


Sour Deeds

by passcrow



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Bondage, Breathplay, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 14:10:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passcrow/pseuds/passcrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sometimes you just have to cut out the tumor, Mr. Trager, cut it out regardless of the damage you do in the process."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sour Deeds

"You know who I am?"

"Yeah." He slammed back the whiskey after answering, his eyes watering more from the cigarette smoke that clouded the air of the bar blue than from the sting of the alcohol. He'd numbed out hours ago, an anesthetic of booze and pills that dulled everything to an unfeeling lull. The other man just nodded and sat down.

"You know what I want?" This was a trickier question. One cut of his eyes towards the bartender filled his glass and he pretended to ignore the way the dumb young kid's hand shook and chittered the neck of the bottle against the rim of the chipped and spotted glass. He rolled the whiskey between his palms, warming it. The other man held his silence but not his stillness, his hands jittered and jived. Fingers tapping against the scarred bar, his half full glass of gin, and once, burningly, the battered leather that wrapped the darker man's wrist. He watched the chewed and nearly bloody nail trace the initials of his dead daughter's name before skimming off to run a frantic solo along the flat of the bar.

There were layers to the answer, a multitude of wants that he couldn't even see the end of. He wasn't a leader, wasn't a thinker, wasn't a planner. He was the trigger man. The one who dealt in blood and punishment and death. He didn't think for himself, didn't look ahead to the end game, didn't count costs. He was the pitbull on the leash, the loaded gun, he was the one who carried the blood of the club on his back. "Trager?" The other man's voice snapped between them like a wire, taut and strung out.

"Yeah." Answering by not answering. It was something he was good at, something he'd learned over years in Clay's yoke. The other man nodded and sipped at his gin, taking it back like water before itching at the crook of one elbow, fingers harsh and loud against the crisp white of his dress shirt. The bigger man's presence was making him think too much, making him rise out of the dead space he'd created in his head. "Yeah." He repeated, wiping up into the crazed swirl of his curls, fingers pulling at the quickly graying dark. The bar was suddenly too loud, too smoke filled and too alive. "C'mon." He didn't wait to see if the other man followed.

* * *

They slammed their broken edges together like shattered glass, all teeth and nails and rushed, painful movements. Tig shoved the other man against the building, his breath burning in his lungs as he skimmed one hand up and broke the elastic tie that held back long hair so that he could tangle his fingers into the strands. He could see the imprint of his teeth against Toric's swollen lower lip, the slightest rill of blood smeared in the corner of his mouth. He stripped at the vest just as quickly, the buttons making small pinging sounds against the pavement as he jerked the silky fabric open. The rush of heat off the long haired man's chest made him groan, the scent of sweat and some spiced cologne filling his nostrils as he leaned in and bit at the freckled skin that ran from under buttoned white.

There was a complacency he didn't expect, a softness to the long hands that palmed into the leather of the cut that contrasted sharply with the way Toric lifted his knee and pressed it into the erection that Tig was grinding into his hips. Lusted pain shivered over his entire body and he closed his teeth on the pulse that pounded under his lips, matching pain for pain and groan for groan. Used to taking what he wanted, Tig shoved Toric back harder and stepped in, thrusting his hips. There was a smile on the other man's lips now, a mocking turn that wasn't reflected in his darkened eyes. Tig clenched his jaw in defense, using the grip he had on long hair to angle the other man's jaw up and away. His breath burned as he buried his face in the strong line of Toric's neck, teeth and tongue and heat reddening pale skin.

His fingers were clenched hard in reddish hair, knuckles aching against the uneven wall as he pressed himself on the other man. His entire body was on fire. The numbness he'd cultivated all turned to heat, the liquor in his veins burning and speeding his heartbeat as he feasted. The taste of the other man was dark and smooth like aged whiskey but there was an undertone of insanity, a soured note that Tig recognized and reveled in. Welts rose under his teeth, bites and bruises and blood even though Toric's hands were still gentled on his cut, the heels of his palms pressing warmth in the leather, long thin fingers brushing aimlessly along the collar. He could feel the hum of speech against his lips, but the rush of blood in his head blocked out the actual words and he ignored it until warm fingers culled softly through his hair. The gentle touch startled him, made his breath catch, and made him look up. The pupils of his eyes were blown wide and dark, the blue irises narrowed and silvered like rings against his dark toned skin.

Still speaking, Toric kissed him. Softly. Thoroughly. Something inside him snapped, something like control. Tig groaned into the other man's mouth and swallowed the response. Toric was everything desperate and dark, desire in a three piece suit. His hands dropped from tangled hair and dug into sweated cotton, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks. Instead of responding in kind, Toric skimmed, his hands gentle as he ran them farther into Tig's hair, capturing the springy curls and holding them off the other man's face. Breathless, Tig broke the kiss, teeth swiping his own swollen lip as he leaned back and studied the other man under the uneasy glare of the sodium arc lights that lined the mouth of the alleyway.

Toric was pale but composed, his hair swirled into knotted tangles that brushed past his shoulders. The top three buttons of his dress shirt were somewhere at their feet and the scooped neck of his undershirt hid the edges of the tattoo that ran the center of his chest. The fluttered pulse in his neck was visible and both of them were out of breath. Toric left his hands buried in dark curls, fingers sliding comfortingly along Tig's scalp.

"For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds." Toric's voice was low and muted, the timbre of it almost like a caress. "You've been turned sour by your deeds, Mr. Trager." He lowered one hand, the whitened stretch of his fingers gently tracing the long and lean plane of Tig's jaw before his thumb ran pursed lips. "They fester in you." Tig couldn't deny the words or the want, his chest constricted with desperation and lust. "All the death." Toric whispered the words against his skin, his lips barely skimming stubble. "Everything you touch turns to shit. Your club is a blight on the land." The other man licked at the line of Tig's lips, tongue tracing and then dipping deeper, tasting, taunting, teasing. "All the death." He repeated. "Aren't you fucking sick of it?" Toric's eyes were the color of a storm tossed midnight, a swirled blue that glinted with shards of green. "Don't you just want to put a bullet in your own goddamn head?"

"Everyday." Tig's voice was rough, the honesty of it shocking to his own ears but Toric just nodded and lowered his hands, fingers hooking into Tig's cut and leading him away from the wall and out of the alley.

* * *

The man had amazing arms. Tig let his fingers run Toric's forearm, his thumb running hard on a popped vein, rubbing at the needle tracks that marred pale skin. He held his breath as he slipped the needle in, drawing back the plunger and tainting the syringe with blood before shooting it home. He dropped the needle off the side of the bed and warmed his palm against the injection site before releasing the length of rubber tubing and tipping his eyes up to watch the other man take the hit. Toric hauled a breath and curled his fingers, body listing back into the pillows as the darkness of his eyes faded a warmer but more muddled blue, the drugs hitting him nearly instantly.

Tig pressed his knees into the mattress, easily straddling the larger man, possessively running his hands freely over the width and breadth of Toric's chest. The air in the hotel room was thick and warm, the broken glass grind of the air conditioner making the walls feel closer but Tig barely noticed his surroundings. Instead he focused on the subtle relaxation that softened Toric's jaw, watched the drugs shift respiration slower, muscles laxer, and vision dimmer. Vulnerability, peace of mind in a needle. Shifting lower, Tig licked slowly at the other man's eyelids, closing the nearly vacant stare before sliding down for a kiss. Gin, whiskey, and cigarettes, their distinct tastes melding into a flavor that Tig wished he could bottle. He could feel the other man's erection rubbing against his ass and he ground down into it, drawing a strangled but oddly passive grunt off Toric's chest. His own length was painfully hard, tamped and constrained inside tight denim that was slowly growing damp.

With slow fingers he worked the buttons that lined the other man's torso, carefully peeling the sweated fabric to either side and letting his hands linger, pinching and rubbing until the other man's nipples were hard. Tig groaned appreciation when cool palms ran his thighs, ragged nails scratching and digging on faded denim. His hips arched when Toric tugged at the snap on his jeans, body clenched in wary stillness as he waited to see if he would come from the single touch. The other man's hands were shaking but skilled, a circled stroke that ended in a vised grip, palm clenched tight enough to hurt at the base of Tig's cock while the other hand dipped lower, a quick message against his balls before thin fingers ran the crack of his ass.

"Fuck!" Tig shunted the curse towards the ceiling, head rolling back on his shoulders as his eyes rolled up in his head. Toric laughed. The sound sent shivers down Tig's back and pooled lust in his stomach. The fall of his opened jeans stunted his movements, handicapping him when Toric arched up, the movement easier than it should have been. The other man's eyes were electric, a greened blue that burned, pupils pinpointed as a predatory smile turned his lips.

"Exactly." Toric said. Tig bit against the inside of his cheek when the bigger man started turning hard strokes into his cock purposely grinding him to a finish. His orgasm crashed over him, snapping every muscle in his body taut as he came with a half swallowed yell. Toric laughed again, his strokes not slowing as he worked the glut of sudden warmth along Tig's twitching and softening erection. "Lay back." There was no room for argument in the snap of his voice, the force of his personality baking off his bared skin in palpable waves. Still panting, Tig let himself fall back, the strain on his bent knees excruciating before Toric palmed a leg in each hand and tugged them straight, somehow skinning wet and warm denim down at the same time.

Tig buried both hands into his hair, eyes hooded and sated as he watched Toric step from the mattress. The other man's body was thick but muscular, every move precise as he stripped at his rucked and sweated clothes. The bruise in the crook of his elbow was a dark stain on pale skin, a dried drop of blood smeared and crusted like another freckle. His hair fell past his shoulders, the red highlights brightened and more obvious in the light from the small lamp, shadows swarming over his face as he rucked the strands back. With a quick motion he threaded a knot at the nape of his neck, bangs falling down as soon as he dropped his hands. "Pants, Mr. Trager." There was a bottle of whiskey on the bedside table and he grabbed at it, spinning the cap and sucking back a mouthful before tugging open the drawer and lifting a set of handcuffs into one palm.

Tig toed off his boots and shimmied his body against the dirty sheets, kicking the jeans off his legs before stretching up so that his shoulders just crested the wadded pillows at the head of the bed. His shirt was still clinging to his shoulders but the western style snaps were all undone, the fabric spread to either side of his torso. "Very nice." Toric licked at the neck of the bottle before taking another swig. He paced the side of the bed like some kind of stalking cat as he eyed the length of the biker, noting how old scars and new threaded across the dark haired skin. The handcuffs rattled against glass when he shifted them from one hand to the other so that he could stroke at his erection, palm spread and tight against the length as he worked himself harder. "Open." Toric tipped the bottle over Tig's face, wetting against dark hair and the pillowcase even though most of the amber fluid drizzled into the darker man's open mouth. "I'm not a patient man. Nor am I a penitent man."

He crawled onto the mattress, his eyes bright behind the fall of hair that had swung forward to cover his cheeks. Every movement was calculated, a tease of weight and friction as pale skin ran dark. Toric settled the mostly empty bottle of whiskey into Tig's side and straddled at his chest, letting his weight settle more or less fully against flared ribs. One hand snapped a handcuff bracelet around Tig's wrist, settling the body heat warmed metal just below the thick metal bracers that he wore and snicking it tight while the other led his erection to the other man's lips. Half gasping, Tig opened his mouth, and tilted his jaw so that Toric could thrust the thick head of his penis into warmth. The angle wasn't good for either of them, a frustrating lack of depth and friction that had Toric rising up farther, one hand gripping into the headboard for leverage as he ran his hips harder, blatantly fucking Tig's willing mouth.

The rush of drugs was heating him now, any lassitude burned off in a frenetic rush of adrenaline that tuned every muscle and dulled every pain. He ground his hips forward until he felt Trager's nose press and flatten against the flat of his pelvis and then he thrust even harder, knowing that the other man would be feeling the lack of oxygen. The rattle of metal drew his attention, the flare and clench of Tig's hand against the turn of his hip, nails scraping furrowed welts that bled over his hip and down along his ass. Toric grabbed the clenching hand and passed the short chain behind one of the thick wooden spindles of the headboard. before drawing Tig's free hand up and snapping the other bracelet closed. He let both hands run the stretched line of tensed muscles, his fingertips whisper soft against dark skin as he ran another breaths worth of thrusts forward before pulling back.

The other man's lips had tinged out a delicate blue that quickly faded back to swollen and irritated red when Toric's thick penis slipped from his mouth and he could breathe again. "Nor am I a nice man." He offered in halfhearted apology, both hands skrimming into black curls. "I punish pain with pain, Mr. Trager. Hurting those who hurt others is my calling." His voice was completely calm, his breathing only slightly jagged. "I enjoy it." Tig shivered into the tone, his erection back and fully hard even though he'd come only minutes before. Toric plied the whiskey bottle again, leading the glass neck into the other man's lips and forcing him to suck the length of it, the alcohol burning at his abused throat. "I'm aware that that fact sets me somewhat outside normal society where pain is something to be avoided and punishment often amounts to little more than a slap on the wrist." He held the bottle until it was empty and then tossed it over one shoulder to thump at the threadbare carpeting. "If a man put out the eye of another man, his eye shall be put out." His hands ran the tattooed lines that crested over Tig's collarbone, fingers tracing the face of the doll that rested there. "Hammurabi. The sixth Babylonian king. He knew about punishment." In a quick movement he gripped Tig's rib cage and jerked him down the mattress so that the backwards arch of his shoulders was extreme. The darker man groaned into it, his hips thrusting fruitlessly up into the air as the flash of pain translated into lusted pleasure. "But you understand that, don't you Mr. Trager?" Toric pushed up off the other man's chest, rising to his feet against the mattress so that he could could step into the space between toned thighs. "You know all about pain and punishment. About hurting those who hurt you. A modern day Hammurabi."

He sank to his knees and led Tig's legs to his hips, grinning when the other man's strong limbs curled around him, ankles catching and pressing hard into the top of his ass. "But you hurt the innocent, Mr. Trager. You ruin lives. You've festered in this little town so long, just getting more and more infected." The rhythm of his words matched the way he stroked the both of them, one hand on his own length as the other teased and firmed at the other man's. "The Sons of Anarchy are like a tumor. Growing and growing, forcing out everything that's good and clean." With a dip of his hips and one minor adjustment he forced himself forward, drawing a long breath off Tig's chest as they rocked together. It was all heated pain, a forced run of friction that had to burn before it could warm into pleasure. Toric reveled in it, his hips speeding up when he realized that Trager was doing the same, a lunatic grin thinning the biker's lips as he twisted his head back hard into the pillows and pressed up with his feet to deepen each thrust. Something very like affection crossed his face as he watched the darker man struggle towards pleasure. Angling forwards he kissed at swollen lips, forcing gentleness even though he wanted to bite and scar. The mulled taste of whiskey and salt passed between them, their breath rushed and mingling as Toric pushed deeper, rushing towards a release that burned and ached in the pit of his stomach. "Sometimes you just have to cut out the tumor, Mr. Trager, cut it out regardless of the damage you do in the process."

* * *

 

Tig drew back a lungful of smoke as sweat dried tacky against his skin, one hand curved around the ashtray that he had balanced on his chest. He let the smoke dribble from his lips on a slow exhale, eyes hazed and lighter than seemed possible in the dim lighting. The sheets were rucked up and damp, the smell of sex and sleepless nights mixing in the still too hot air. Toric was stretched naked at his side, one hand palmed flat and jittering on Tig's stomach while the other pressed tightly under his own head. He was unconscious, his closed eyes rolling quickly under a damp and tangled fall of hair. Without thinking, Tig reached down and palmed the darkened strands away, his fingers gentle on the pale and sweated skin. His thumb scruffed into the grayed roughness of the other man's beard before he reached up to pull the rolled joint from between his lips and crush it against the side of the ashtray.

The ache in his shoulders wasn't altogether unpleasant, a thudding flare of stretched muscles and flexed ligaments that reminded him of long road trips up country on winding roads. The deep red rimmed bruises that lined his wrists were hidden under his bracers, the leather irritatingly tight on swollen skin. He'd had rougher sex before, enjoyed it less and walked away with far more bruises. Sex with Toric had left him oddly relaxed and balanced, all the rough edges in his mind sanded down and settled in a semblance of order that was almost unknown to him.

Toric shifted fitfully, drug tremors running his laxed body as he snuffed and muttered into breath, his lungs stalled and stilted. The run of words was unintelligible, a slur of consonants and hard rounded vowels that made no sense. Tig stretched one arm out and shoved the ashtray onto the battered and cigarette burned surface of the bedside table, a yawn snapping his jaw wide. Curling into the other man's baking warmth he kissed against the pale face, scruffing the stubble that lined his jaw into Toric's beard before pressing their foreheads together and letting his eyes drift closed.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think. Feedback makes the Fic go round.
> 
> I don't own SOA or the characters in any way. I made nothing off them, please don't sue.


End file.
